How can I go home with nothing to say?
by SameStars
Summary: The Social Network, Mark/Eduardo. Eduardo knows what he wants, always has. Mark doesn't. "How can I go home with nothing to say? I know you're going to look at me that way"


A/N: Just needed to get this out of my head. It's rough and un-betaed and confusing for me as well. I just always thought that as nice as the idea of the two of them really loving each other.. I always felt that one person was sure, the other one just didn't know.

Based off the movie characters Mark and Eduardo, not the actual people, and Aaron Sorkin owns these characters and not me. I don't mean to offend anyone by writing this, please don't read if uncomfortable with the subject. English is not my native language, so please bear (and feel free to correct) with my errors.

Title from the fantastic song "You had time" by Ani DiFranco. End of A/N.

Two things fascinated Mark to no end. The first thing was code. It was like a world filled with possibility in the form of symbols incoherent to the untrained. He thinks that maybe that had been the appeal in the first place. The more people questioned his passion about these seemingly endless lines of code, the more dear to him it got.

The other thing and its appeal he had not yet figured out, for it was the complete opposite. When it came to this, he was the one left in the dark, trying to make sense of it all. He could watch Eduardo, or rather his face that would display millions of expressions unmasked when he though no one was looking, for hours if the chance was given. These were rare occasions. Not that Eduardo usually put up walls – in fact, if Mark was guarding his feelings with all possible methods, Eduardo was the one to wear them on his sleeve. The love and care for Mark for example, that so often shone through his eyes, did not go unnoticed even by the subject, no matter how disconnected to the world at times. But these rare occasions offered something more. It was emotions purely unfiltered by any type of self-preservation. Mark just wished that there would be less of the apparently painful emotions. Either way, if given the opportunity, he was sure that he could watch Eduardo for hours at end, forgetting to eat and to sleep the way he did in front of the computer.

Eduardo always had been a good laugh. No matter how abrupt Mark answers would be, he'd never sulk or even show a hint of annoyance. He would smile at the highly sarcastic comment border lining on rude, as if it was Mark who was the light hearted funny one. But Mark knew that there always was a weight on his shoulders. He could laugh all he wanted, he could even take them off as he laid in Mark's bed talking about his day while the other man was coding (Eduardo did this even though he knew he'd never get an answer longer than two words out of Mark). But when he got up to go back to his dorm room, they were back on. You could see it in his posture, how I went from relaxed (although never ever sloping, only not as tense) to the kind of straight posture you apply when trying not to get overwhelmed or crushed under pressure, real or imagined.

His face were the most naked when on the phone with his parents. He would be lying in Mark's bed, or sitting on his couch or hanging in the kitchen with Dustin. His jacket (one of those expensive suit jackets that Mark would've thought looked stupid or at least douchey on any other guy except him, they were in college for christ's sake) tossed somewhere, hair at end and with that grin which made him look boyish despite the clothes. And then the phone would ring, and Mark knew, because his jaws were suddenly tense and he'd close his eyes just for a second. As though another name would appear on the screen when he opened them. He always answers.

It could go two ways. Mark was guessing here, because he never asked in fear of Eduardo guarding himself more closely if aware of Mark's attention. But it would only make sense that the caller ID left it open for two possible callers, for half the time his face would relax, and the other half it would form an almost painful expression. Mark had learned the signs by now. Along with the relief in his expressions came the flowing, nay _liquid_ portuguese sentences. To Mark's ears, it was a love song. He couldn't tell where one word ended and the other begun, it was just one sweet melody he could not ever get tired of hearing.

As for the other times, the ones Mark wished never occurred but still couldn't look away from when they did.. There was no love song. It any song at all, it started out as a defensive one, turning into a sad one, and then to die away drained of any emotion at all. The language had transformed altogether, even though Mark was sure it was theoretically the same, it was now sharp and pointy and altogether stripped of its former beauty.

Those times, Eduardo would seek comfort in him. With his shaking hands and eyes filled with so much emotions Mark dared only to meet them for moments at time. He asked nothing, and though Mark never really gave anything other than himself, he knew deep down that perhaps this was just another thing hurting Eduardo. Because he wasn't sure, he hadn't figured out what Eduardo had _known _since they first met. Sometimes he thought he wanted these foreign love songs to be whispered into his ear, against his skin, in his hair. Most of the time he didn't know. Eduardo never asked, and he never gave him anything but himself. The one thing he knew was that some day, he would hurt him. He would hurt Eduardo the same way that the voice over the phone hurt him over and over again. So in the meantime, though he wasn't sure like Eduardo was, he gave himself, even if it would mean greater pain for one of them (both of them?) in the end. What else could he do?


End file.
